Five Steps
by LJ9
Summary: It doesn't take much for Chat Noir to fall for Marinette.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters and only wish I could make money writing fanfic.

Originally posted on Tumblr because this is all that website's fault.

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i.  
He'd been surprised by the ease with which Marinette spun and knocked the legs from beneath the latest of Hawkmoth's pawns; there was a satisfied light in her eyes that reminded him of someone else…until she'd blinked and risen from her crouch, looking suddenly ill-at-ease in a body that had just been moving with instinctual grace.

"Nice moves, princess," he praised, and was rewarded with pink cheeks and an adorable smile—and it was a reward, judging by the effort he put into deserving that look, and the satisfaction he got from seeing it. The sudden speeding of his heart wasn't exactly satisfaction, though, and neither was the way he'd begun to look forward to seeing her.

And now he scrambled for just a bit more time with her. He grinned and, unable to do otherwise, nodded as extravagantly as possible. "Thank you for the help. May I have the honor of escorting you home?"

"Don't you have to deal with that?" She gestured to the young man wriggling underneath Chat, who held one flashlight still imbued with dark power.

His ears drooped. Ladybug would be along sooner or later to dispose of the akuma; he wasn't sure what would happen if someone who'd been temporarily in league with Hawkmoth were to wander the city without the tools to wreak havoc, but he supposed it wouldn't be much fun for anyone. "I suppose you're right."

"If I see Ladybug, I'll send her your way," Marinette offered with a smirk. "I'd better get home before they start to worry. Bye, Chat."

Fortunately, he remembered at the last moment why he couldn't go after her. It didn't stop him from calling "Wait!" She turned, eyes wide and expression expectant; his mind raced (faster even than his heart was) to come up with some reason for her to stay, but there was nothing that wouldn't sound foolish. Instead he heard himself blurting, "Can…can I see you later?"

The mask, he was sure, was doing nothing to hide the burning of his face as she considered the question. It was stupid, he told himself, rash and forward and _weird_ , and now she'd avoid him. After several lifetimes in which she searched his face, her fingers plucking at the strap of her purse, she gave a little nod. He blinked rapidly.

"I live above the patisserie Du—well, it's got my name on it," she said. Then a devilish smile flitted onto her lips, one that made him glad he was already sitting down. "If you can find me, you can see me."

He would, if it took all night.

* * *

ii.  
"I want you to be safe."

She cocked her head to one side, as if genuinely perplexed by the notion. "Why?"

"I—" She likely wouldn't believe any declaration of her worth to him, no matter how true. He settled for "It's all part of the hero business. Protecting the citizens of Paris." He wondered if the words sounded flat to her, too.

Her eyes were stormy in the encroaching dark. "Oh. So I'm just another citizen?"

"Of _course_ not!" The widening of his eyes, the step he took toward her, the haste with which he answered were all too eager, too earnest. Without thinking he put his hand on her arm, just above her elbow. "You're— Are you cold?"

Though the night was warm, goosebumps dotted the bare skin around his hand. His thumb stroked her arm and a shiver shook her; the urge to wrap his arms around her was new and difficult to ignore.

She blinked at the gloved hand and he withdrew it, feeling off-balance, sluggish, awkward. "I'm fine," she said quietly, rubbing her arm. When she raised her eyes to look up at him through her lashes something inside him splintered. He fought to breathe.

"I'm serious, Marinette. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"What about you? You're in more danger than I am."

One shoulder lifted in a shrug; though it was meant to be insouciant, he felt sure she could see the lump in his throat, sure his body was betraying him again. "I have to protect the city, and Ladybug. As long as they're safe, it doesn't really matter what happens to me."

"That's not true. Tell me you don't believe that's true!" It was her turn to surge forward, sounding incredulous and fierce. "I need you. Ladybug needs you. We all do." Her flailing fingers found purchase near his wrist and squeezed gently until he met her gaze. She offered a tiny smile. "After all, there's only one Chat Noir. You're irreplaceable."

His breath hitched. This was the Marinette he'd caught glimpses of at school. Were all of their classmates this stunned by her? Did they take her for granted, her and her determination, her powerful kindness? _He had_ , he thought; but Adrien hadn't known that this was what it felt like to be cared for by her. He'd been teetering on the edge. Now he was rushing, diving, falling.

"Princess," he said. "Marinette."

Her name was echoed by a voice from below calling up to her. She glanced down, something like disappointment flashing across her features. "I have to go. Well, _you_ have to go." Smiling ruefully, she squeezed his arm again. Then her smile faded and there was that dogged look, the one that meant she wasn't going to give up. He did his best to memorize the expression. "I promise I'll try to stay safe," she said, "if you promise to do the same. Because if I can't protect myself, I'll need you to do it for me."

"Yes. Yes, I promise."

She sighed a little and smiled more and he didn't think he was imagining the gleam of tears in her eyes. The voice called her again but she lingered, biting her lip and bobbing toward him before pulling back. Her grip on his arm tightened one last time as she whispered good night and hurried inside, calling back to her mother.

He felt the heat of her fingers on his arm all the way home.

* * *

iii.  
On Monday she seemed not to notice him.

Of course, she didn't even know that he was there. But her attention was far off all the same, so distant that even Alya couldn't keep her focus. It gave him the chance to observe her—something he'd never even thought of doing before. Not like this.

He watched from across the courtyard as Rose asked her a question. In response Marinette shrugged out of her jacket and handed it to the other girl. His pulse stuttered at the memory of her goosebumps, the press of her small hand on his arm, her insistence of his worth. Rose put on the jacket and Marinette looked her over for a moment before going into action: folding the collar back, pulling the sides together to show where a button might be, fluttering the hem around the other's hips with a comment that made her giggle. Marinette stepped back and bent to retrieve her sketchbook from the bag at her feet, which gave Adrien a clear view of Rose's delighted expression.

Maybe they didn't all take Marinette for granted. Maybe he'd been the only one who hadn't realized how wonderful she was.

Marinette straightened, flipping open the notebook as she did, and quickly sketched something in it. She and Rose stood close together to look over the design; the latter nodded enthusiastically as Marinette explained something. When she was done speaking Rose swiftly hugged her, and after a tiny pause she returned the embrace. That pause spoke volumes, as did the look on her face in it; Marinette looked as if she hadn't been expecting it, but more so as if didn't believe she deserved the effusive thanks. The two parted and Marinette began to walk away, only to pivot at Rose's call and the return of her jacket, accompanied by both girls' laughter. Then he was treated to the sight of Marinette slipping one slim arm and then another into their sleeves, grace in every movement. The laughter of the previous moment slid into concentration as her thoughts turned inward again.

She was so intent, so absorbed, that she walked past him without noticing. Some deep, lonely part of him ached as her steps led her away from him. He wanted suddenly for her to know—to know all of him, how blind he'd been, and how very thankful he was.

* * *

iv.  
Adrien bought the bouquet, a half-dozen pink and white lilies, and dictated the message to the florist who smiled indulgently while copying it out. "She's a lucky girl," the woman remarked, handing him the tissue-swaddled and ribbon-wrapped blooms.

"I'm the lucky one," he said.

Chat Noir delivered the flowers, arranging them carefully outside the door to the terrace and rapping smartly at it. Then he fled, bounding across rooftops to a vantage point where he could see her without being noticed himself. She looked puzzled as she opened the door, and wary as she saw the offering; then she picked it up with a slow smile. Cradling the bouquet in one arm she plucked free the little envelope, slid out the card, and read the words inscribed by a middle-aged shopkeeper at the behest of a boy with a jackhammer heart.

 _To my Princess, from her most grateful servant._

Marinette's expression was so tender it took everything in him not to race back to her roof. She lifted her head, looking this way and that, out into the night; he saw his name on her lips and nearly lost his footing, so strong was the pull he felt. After a moment of searching she turned and went inside, but he stayed put until he trusted himself again.

"What is that?" Alya demanded the next day, her nose wrinkled. She reached out to bat at Marinette's shirt, where a patch of fine yellow powder dusted the fabric.

"Oh! It's pollen, I think." A blush rose in her cheeks as Alya's questioning look required her to expand upon her answer. "I got some flowers yesterday."

"Flowers? Who from?"

The answer was soft and certain. "A friend."

" _Just_ a friend?" Alya needled.

The glimpse he got of her face, suffused with pink and smiling secretly, shyly, brought him such hope he felt like he could fly.

* * *

v.  
She stood when he touched down on the terrace. Her hair fell free over her shoulders and he wondered if she'd been waiting for him, hoping for him.

"The flowers are beautiful," she said. "You didn't have to do that. Thank you."

"It was the least I could do. But…" He strutted toward her, pushing what little luck he had, coming closer than he'd yet dared. He was close enough to see her eyes flash dark, to hear her muted gasp. "If you were looking for another way to show your appreciation…"

The purr and the smirk hid a heart steeled for rejection. For a moment he was sure she would roll her eyes, let him down kindly with a quip, and he was ready for it, though he knew how much it would hurt.

Shock froze him when she kissed the corner of his mouth, letting her lips linger on his cheek. Before he could move she ducked her head and all but collapsed against his chest, winding her arms around his waist. She was warm against him and his arms moved of their own accord, encircling her shoulders; one hand went to her hair and combed through it until she sighed.

"You've got your claws in me, kitty," she murmured into his neck. Every word was a little kiss branding his skin. If the pounding of his heart under her cheek bothered her she made no mention; she merely settled more snugly against him, and he marveled at how well they fit together. "Don't let go."

"As my princess commands," he said, and held her tighter.


End file.
